5 Most Horrific Supervision Fears
“It’s just a supervision? What are you afraid of?” Well here are the five biggest things.
As term is coming to an end, the stress of simply surviving creeps into everything and you have nightmares about the most mundane chores.
The common Cambridge inferiority complex makes everything appear more difficult, especially supervisions. Whilst the majority of us may have been able to manoeuvre our way through life prior to university – there’s no pulling the wool over the supervisor’s eyes. Perhaps this is why my dreams are haunted by the series of unfortunate events that could occur in their dimly lit rooms.
Here are the five deepest, darkest fears about supervisions:
Despite a sweat-inducing cycle/sprint, you’re late, as per. In a crowded lecture this wouldn’t be nearly as terrifying, but here it is a problem. Now you have to attempt to formulate coherent and intelligent sentences as well as thinking of ways you can discreetly wipe your brow. This is a never-ending cycle: the more you panic, the more you sweat and the more you sweat the more you panic. You are immobilised… and all the while your supervision partner smiles knowingly.
In an academic-eat-academic bubble, comfort can be sought in the most unlikely places. Particular supervisors invoke infantilisms but it is not okay to verbalise these. For instance, an encouraging compliment cannot be met with ‘Thanks Mum’.
It may be common knowledge that you are at the bottom of the feeding chain in your supervision, however primary school bullying tactics are not on. If a supervision time has been changed, it’s common courtesy for your ‘partners’ (enemies) to inform you.
Facebook highlights how they have been sampling the delights of each other’s formals, whilst you struggle with that week’s set text. Pro-plus is making you paranoid, and there is a menacing montage to your life.
They debate semantics louder and more competently than you, wear their blazers more confidently…you are left quivering, broken and invisible.
Misinterpreting the Signs
Last nights Jaegorbombs are still coursing through your veins and you are emboldened. Every appreciative nod sends a shiver down your spine and you’re more adventurous with your word play. The traditional courtship of the Cambridge nightlife has not taught you well and at the end of the one-on-one supervision you catch your superior off-guard. Perhaps Warwick still has your place on hold? You always wanted to pursue acting seriously anyway.
Momentary lapse of patience
We are only human and there’s only so much humans can take. When a supervisor rips into the work you have poured everything into for the past 4 hours It. Is. Not. On.
You sweep all of their belongings off the coffee table being sure you throw their own book the furthest before proceeding to let rip a stream of obscenities. ‘YOU FUCKING FAT OLD GOBLIN, DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM?!”
It’s almost as if you’re watching a movie, one where the protagonist sprays spit with every word.
‘I BET YOU’VE NEVER BEEN LAID, JUST COS YOU DIDN’T GET INTO CAMBRIDGE FIRST TIME ROUND, FUCK OFF BACK TO DURHAM’.
Of course, the only real cure to supervision nerves would be to fully prepare for them. However, this seems like an unfeasible nugget of advice, so I would have some camomile tea, perhaps some sedatives (let’s say Valium) and let your mind take you to Sunday’s Life.